I'll Never Forget
by Pneumonia
Summary: That day, standing in the clouds, speaking to him and telling him it would never work, that it wouldn't, shouldn't work- was a lie. But, I knew the other choice wasn't an option. It never was. Never was, as long as she was there.


Everything's that colour.

A colour so pure, with so many meanings. It represents new beginnings, purity and the will to do something right.

And then, there was something created by nature, something so delicate, but white, and pure, and beautiful, that drifts through the winds until it lands on your nose and eyelashes, ticking your cheeks and makes you wonder how anything could be so perfect.

This was called snow.

I stared at the snow falling. Flake by flake my eyes would wander as they drifted from above onto the slightly frosted ground. I couldn't imagine anything else more intriguing.

Each snowflake was truly different, but you were only allowed I glimpse before it was swept away from you. Then, another would come, and the pattern would repeat itself until you felt like your head was going explode.

The first snow of the season is truly a beautiful sight, as is autumn leaves falling off trees and slowly drifting onto the fall coloured ground. This just made it all the more beautiful. The fact that you were- maybe- one of the first to truly see it.

Simple things, usually not noticed, simply beautiful in its own way. Few have the talent to capture it, and I was grateful for it.

My brush swirled across the rough canvas, streaking colours here and there, causing an image to be created. What you saw it as, was your own invention. But, what it truly was; was only for the artist to know. A secret.

•Ω•

My hands streaked through my red hair, nervous, nervous about what role I had accepted. I knew, it could be fatal, more then likely, but somehow, the compelling feeling wouldn't leave me.

My heart skipped a beat when he was worried for me, that he didn't want me to get hurt, that this didn't need to happen, that he'd find another way. But, unless _she_ was gone, I had no reason not to this.

This was the choice I was meant to make, this was my destiny. The process seemed frightening, and nobody seemed willing to let me do it. But, I knew, that this was something only I could do. Something that made _me_ special- even if it were to die.

But, I was already dead ever since he chose _her_.

•Ω•

Every now and then, I would think about that day, and if it were for the best. Did, I do the right thing? Of course I did. But, was it the right choice for me?

I could have changed it, could have done what I wanted. Could've done what _should_ have happened. It was meant to happen, ever since that day, when I just _maybe_ saved his life. And, that other time, when I _actually…_ probably… did save his life…again. But, that didn't matter, because it the end, he didn't save _my_ life. He killed me himself.

That day, standing in the clouds, speaking to _him_ and telling _him_ it would _never_ work, that it _wouldn't_, _shouldn't_ work- was a lie. But, I knew the other choice wasn't an option.

It never was.

Never was, while _she_ was in the picture.

•Ω•

The steps creaked, and slowly I opened the latch and swung the flap open.

The dust and rot chocked my throat, stuffing my nose. I coughed involuntarily, and stared at the wonders around me- the spoils of war. Some, I didn't understand, and others frightened me to the very core.

And that's when I reached it, the person that was no more, trapped in a curse.

A curse only I could lift.

•Ω•

The images swam through my head. I couldn't focus, and felt as if I were dying. But, after that, everything was fine. We were friends, and even though he was with _her_ most of time, he was still my friend. And for now, that was enough.

We still hung out, and had our usual talks, but nothing was ever the same after that horrible war. The horrible war where _she_ actually _saved_ me, and _he_ couldn't stop gushing about it.

Boys.

•Ω•

I moved towards the figure, as everything told me that this was right. This was supposed to happen. I convinced myself enough and stumbled towards the hideous thing.

All I could remember was walking, walking for an eternity. Confronting what used to have been a beautiful woman, and releasing them from they're curse. I could hear a million _Thank you_'s drift through the air, barely loud enough for the sound to register through my ears and into my brain.

But, that's when I knew I had done something amazing. I had done something worth doing. But was it worth doing for me? Or was it simply what had to be done?

And then the world went black, and then I knew I could never _ever_ have him.

•Ω•

Everything's that colour.

A colour so pure, with so many meanings, but yet meaningless. It represents new beginnings, purity and the will to do something right.

And then, there was something created by nature, something so delicate, but white, and pure, and beautiful, that drifts through the winds until it lands on your nose and eyelashes, ticking your cheeks and makes you wonder how anything could be so perfect.

This was called snow.

My brush swirled across the rough canvas, streaking colours here and there, causing an image to be created. What you saw it as, was your own invention. But, what it truly was; was only for the artist to know. A secret.

But, then I realized, I was never painting the snow. No. I was painting something so painful, my heart seized and I just about stopped breathing when it realized what it was.

To some, I might have been a handsome young man, dressed in armor holding a sword while slashing evil looking enemies. And at his feet, was a girl.

She was supposed to have princess curls in delicate blonde hair, and stunning eyes that looked like storm. That's how it happened.

But, in this painting, the girl had long red hair that was wavy, but not quite curly, and eyes that almost were as green as the boy's.

But, nothing could compare to the boy himself, with his rippling muscles, and the black mop of hair that a comb could never seem to tame. But, his eyes were what made him so stunning you could stare at him for days.

His eyes, at the least green. But, they were much, much more. His eyes were the ocean, and yet the earth. His eyes shined such a beautiful neon green, even _turquoise_, that you wouldn't believe they were his real eye colour.

Those eyes had seen too much, and those eyes held the lives of too many, the fate of so much more then should have been right. But, at the same time, they were full with life, full with worry and full with his cocky attitude that this boy was nothing less then stunning.

And if only she could have had Percy Jackson.


End file.
